


to watch and wait

by madanach



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/pseuds/madanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is never comfortable when they meet like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to watch and wait

**Author's Note:**

> give me pseudo-roman high council meetings in post-apocalyptic video games or give me death!

It is never comfortable when they meet like this.

Caesar empties his tent, his Praetorians lining the outside of the burlap walls, watchful and wary and barely reassured by the presence of Caesar’s most powerful, most trusted men around their sacred leader. There is a long wooden table under the judgement of the night sky, with Lanius at its feet and Caesar crowning its head, Lucius to his right and Vulpes to his left. It is there that they discuss war, the tactics and trappings and movements of the Legion that slumbers silently outside their door. For Caesar, it is as if he was born in his bull’s-head throne - he spreads papers and reads letters, dutifully and solemnly unfolding the breath of ten thousand men under his aging hands. Lucius, experience benefiting him, has Caesar’s high opinion of him to keep him guarded as he carefully corrects his master, ever the second-opinion, always backing down when asked. He smiles more when they are like this. It gives him comfort, in his own way.

Vulpes is young, barely earned his name, title spread over his shoulders with a weight he is too accustomed to holding. He has no desire to plan, or plot, or theorize - he grew up in Caesar’s shadow, and he will always be a weapon. Never mind that Caesar himself calls him remarkable - Vulpes Inculta, _desert fox,_ or _fox of the wastes,_ the Legion’s cleverest bonesaw, a silver tongue wearing a dog’s head. Vulpes takes his pleasure elsewhere - he burns and he breaks and he stitches the Mojave into something his master would deign to see. For now, he is content to watch, and wait.

Lanius paces. Lanius always paces. For once unarmored, his mask waits in his unoccupied chair as his booted feet dig trenches in the loose sand. At times, Caesar will raise his head, call to him - Lanius will turn, then, a mess of scars and savagery, answer whatever questions posed to him by his lord with trained speech and brutal honesty. He has nothing to hide, no reservations, a great tactician who would rather fight than think, and to Caesar he is nothing more than a valuable, well-trained dog. Lanius does not hold this against him. After all, it is true.

They are there for hours. The tent flap fell shut when the sun sank just beyond the brim of the desert and does not open until it stands, once again, high overhead, casting dark shadows over Caesar’s unoccupied bed. If they were in Rome, Caesar would be the first to rise, his senators, trustees, advisors following suit, but this is not Rome and there is a monster wandering about his chambers, so Caesar dismisses his court with a wave of his hand and takes his leave, back to his few comforts, to rest his weary head. When he is gone, Lucius smiles amicably, gathers up their blueprints, nods to Vulpes and Lanius before following his lord and master. He will be reading for hours yet, ever the perfectionist, fortifying every corner, brace, edifice of Caesar’s brazen framework, not to be executed until he is certain that their walls will not break.

Now there are only two. The brute and the charmer, the savage and the civil, the fox and the hound - no, bear - no, titan. Vulpes does not have his Frumentarii to keep his attention away from the shadow that stalks the room, and so he watches as Lanius walks, and walks, and walks. Their conclave is over, and Vulpes can not - will not - leave until he knows he has seen the back of the Monster of the East.

"How goes your campaign, Legate?" he asks. Simple words, never mind that a night has passed where they were the only thing in his ears. He doesn’t know if the Legate catches the irony, if the cursory laugh that escapes him is understanding or scorn, but either way, Vulpes is allowed to see the man’s full face when he is answered.

"Brutal, Vulpes. NCR enjoy their bloodletting at a distance. We will catch up to them soon enough."

"Ah, so there is still a ways in front of you?"

It is not his intention to be snide, not to the colossus who haunts Fortification Hill like he can see the dead and the living alike, but his tongue is his most valuable feature and he hates to see it wasted, even if it would do him better to avoid that bitter snarl that shows teeth. Lanius moves - only slightly, but Vulpes is well aware that he does no good in tempting fate. He lowers his eyes, deference and servitude, and Lanius relaxes.

"See to it that your words do not get you in trouble, little fox," Lanius says. When Vulpes looks up, the room is empty, and the imprint of a vicious mask in an empty chair is burned into his vision like a slaver’s brand.

Vulpes curls his legs underneath him, clicks his tongue in frustration, wills security into his trembling hands.


End file.
